


Ain't Giving Up

by Dirty_Corza



Series: Aftermath [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Cancer, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, john's got a daughter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-12
Updated: 2012-01-12
Packaged: 2017-10-29 09:58:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/318658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dirty_Corza/pseuds/Dirty_Corza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock discovers he has lung cancer because of a tumor in his brain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ain't Giving Up

Nothing about Sherlock was ever normal. It never had been. From the time John first met the man he knew as his best friend, he had always been a force of nature, in the form of a talk, dark haired, pale mastermind. A genius, who led a life full of danger and excitement.

John had once thought he would share that life with him forever. Then there had been Reichenbach. John had thought he'd lost him, and it had broken his heart, and more importantly, his spirit. He had learned to value the softness of everyday life, doing normal things. He had met Livy during that time, and she had shown him a new world, a world where not everything reminded him of Sherlock. Two years had gone by before they were engaged, and three before they were married. It was almost ironic how it was the day he pledged his heart to her that Sherlock had chosen to reveal that he wasn't actually dead.

But John had moved on already. He looked at Sherlock, looking so hopeful, and introduced his lovely Mrs. Watson. Then said goodbye. He hadn't even really believed it, until they were back home from the honeymoon, and Sherlock arrived at his doorstep, asking if maybe he'd like to help him with a case. Livy had told him to go, so he had, and found it easy to return to their old camaraderie. They didn't get back to as close as they had been, though. Both realizing things had changed with three years dead. He was grateful Sherlock realized that, grateful he didn't try to force John to do more than he felt he could with a wife, and later, a child.

Diana was a beautiful girl, and ever so sharp. She was taken by Sherlock at the very first, calling him “Uncle Sherly,” listening to all he said with rapt attention. John let him do harmless experiments with her, even let him teach her how to deduce people. Sure, she was wrong more often than not at the beginning, but as she grew older, it turned out she had quite a knack for it. She adored her adopted uncle to no end. Her thirteenth birthday, he took her on her first trip to the morgue, her sixteenth, her first crime scene. She kept Sherlock in John's life more than anything else. Where John was busy with his wife and work, she loved an excuse to skip school and get away with it. John suspected it was Mycroft who managed to smooth things over so she never got in trouble for going on adventures.

It was Diana that first noticed when something strange was happening. She brought it up at dinner. “Dad, Uncle Sherly's... I think something's wrong.”

“And why do you say that?”

“He couldn't deduce right today. Like, he was right, but he couldn't think of the words for it. It was so unlike him.” She had said it as if it was perfectly normal, but he could see the worry on her face. Just like her father in that, emotions so clearly written, whether she liked it or not.

“I'll get him in for some tests then. He hasn't had a physical in ages. Goodness knows he needs one, at 54.”

“Thanks, dad.” She had gotten up and kissed his cheek, and he could feel it in his bones that his seventeen year old daughter was in the same place he had been all those years ago. A best friend, an adventurer, she couldn't bear to lose him.

Meeting with Sherlock and suggesting an appointment had gone over easier than he expected. “Yes, John. I've been thinking the same thing. Even if it did take Diana noticing to decide for certain something needed to be done.”

It was that easy. Sherlock went in the next day, they did all the usual tests, and then, at Sherlock's insistence, they did an MRI. Everything had been fine up to that point. Everything had been normal. And then they did a scan of his bran and found a tumor. And not just a little thing. A shadow, the size of an apple, nestled right next to the language portion of his brain. That had come as a shock to John, so he ordered an x-ray, wondering if maybe, just maybe, there was something more. That was when they discovered the tumor on Sherlock's lung. Cancer, said his inner diagnostic voice, far enough along it moved from his lung to his brain.

The specialist spoke up, confirming his initial thoughts. “We'll have to biopsy the masses, but preliminary examination suggests stage four lung cancer.”

There had, surprisingly, been no protest on the part of the genius. He had let himself be rushed off for more tests, leaving John to make the phone calls. One to Mycroft, and a follow-up to Greg Lestrade. Brother and brother-in-law, the first two to know. Then he called Livy, telling her to head to the school. The last phone call was to Diana, giving her the barest details, and letting her know her mother would be there soon, to pick her up.

Then came the waiting. The waiting alone. It was strange, being on this side of things for the third time since the war. First had been Harry, before she was finally sober and in America with her wife. Then had been Mrs. Hudson after a stroke. With Sherlock, it felt unnatural. Sherlock shouldn't be in a room having tests done. He should be sitting next to John, deducing people to tease a smile out of him. He should be telling him about the last case he and Diana solved together, about how much better a writer his daughter was than he was. Sherlock just wasn't meant for things like cancer and brain tumors. He was too brilliant for that.

Mycroft and Greg arrived first, just as Sherlock was being wheeled to a private room. They were all allowed to go with him, to wait for the results. Already he looked haggard. Or maybe John was just reading a little too much into things.

“Been poked and prodded enough?” he asked, trying to keep from tearing up. He had done so well this far, he could last a little bit longer.

Sherlock laughed, and John found it even harder to keep from tearing up. “Oh, I'm sure they'll find more reasons soon enough. Doctors usually do. I used to live with one, you know.”

“Yeah. Right arse he was, if I remember right.” They smiled at each other, and in that moment John knew that he still felt something for Sherlock, something more than platonic. That he always had, and it had always been too late for them. Mourning him once before had seen to that.

The moment was broken by Livy and Diana arriving. Poor Diana, she looked so out of place, her features carefully composed, the not wanting to see Sherlock like this clear in her stance, but she was here anyways, facing the hurt and anguish of knowing nothing. John watched the scene play out before him, her hesitant steps, the way Sherlock, just gave a little nod and she was at his side, leaning in and kissing his cheek, and he kissed hers back, and there was a moment where John wondered if he was imagining the affection in their eyes. She stayed by his bedside then, holding his hand, letting her nervous fingers play over his knuckles.

“Well?” She was looking around the room, waiting for an explanation. An explanation John didn't have.

“We don't know much. At this point all we know if there are two tumors, one on the lung, the other in the brain. He's been back for tests all day, though, so we can expect results soon.” As he spoke, he took a stool over to his daughter, giving her a place to sit next to Sherlock. She seemed right, there, looking all the world like someone stuck in a forbidden love affair. He could sympathize with that, the feeling of being swept away by Sherlock.

Diana, though, she was so young. And it was completely platonic. Her Uncle Sherly, no person could take that away from her. She'd never let them. But this was more than a person. This was cancer, a monster, not even a disease.

Everyone in the room was silent. Waiting. It was palpable, the anxiousness as they awaited the results. Surely someone would be in soon, to explain what was going on.

Sure enough, there was. A trio of doctors stepped in, looking over the gathered crowd with a slight nod. One almost balked at the sight of the young woman holding the older man's hand, taking the place a wife would normally take at his bedsit, but they composed themselves quickly, for which John was grateful. He didn't know if he could stand it, if they decided to ask the obvious question.

“There is good news, and there is bad news. Just as there usually is with cases like this. It has been confirmed to be cancer, at least, the mass on the lung. For now we can only assume the tumor in the brain is also cancerous. Now, with the size and location of the brain tumor, it would normally be inoperable. But this mass happens to be mostly fluid, so we can operate on it without too much risk.”

“The most likely scenario is that we operate, and though you'd have some difficulty for a while, in a few months the swelling would go down, and as the brain is a marvelous organ, able to reconnect synapses after events such as this, you'd be able to continue with life in practically the same way, other than having to undergo chemotherapy for the cancer on your lung.”

Those in the room nodded, all looking toward Sherlock. “Well, I suppose I'll have to have brain surgery then.” He smiled around at his close knit family, giving Diana's hand a little squeeze. Then came time for questions. They all took turns asking the doctors for more details, and, gratefully, they seemed to have all the answers.

“The surgery is going to take place in the morning, at eight o'clock. Get some rest, Mr. Holmes.” that was the final parting comment as the doctors left, and the tension in the room went down a few notches.

“Well, are you all going to have a slumber party in my room? Or do I get to have some peace and quiet tonight?” Sherlock was smiling, trying to look as normal as possible.

“We'll be back in the morning,” Mycroft said, taking Greg's hand as they left. John wasn't sure, but he thought there were the traces of tears in his eyes.

“We should be going, too.” John spoke up, going to give Diana a light hug, kissing her forehead. “You up for a night here? It's mighty uncomfortable.”

She smiled, relief in her eyes that she wouldn't have to ask if she could. “Yeah. Thanks dad.”

Sherlock smiled to him as well, “Thank you John. For... everything.” John bit his lip, giving Sherlock's free hand a small squeeze. “You say that like I did more than drag you to the doctors.”

“You did.” the voice was soft, and Sherlock wasn't looking at him anymore, he was sharing a knowing smile with Diana.

“Well, I'll be off then, Diana, you know you to call if there's any troubles. Goodnight, you two.” With that, he took Livy's hand, letting her lead the way out to her car, pulling her close for a tight embrace before they got in. She kissed his cheek, and the weight in his chest lifted as he turned her face to gently kiss her lips. This was why he married her, when his heart was aching for comfort, she had always known just how to give it to him. When he felt the pain of losing Sherlock, she was always there, letting him fall into her waiting arms.

\- - -

Back in the hospital, Diana was giving Sherlock another gentle kiss on the cheek. “He doesn't know how much you love him. Not, not consciously. I think his heart knows, though. And he feels the same.”

“Doesn't change anything, though.”

“Doesn't make it any less important.”

“No. No it doesn't.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is an AU, where I don't advance technology/medicine farther than it is right now. Also, any mistakes about medical terms/tests are all my own. I am not a doctor.


End file.
